


Kumathel-azl (The song of memory)

by Srtawalker



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Everybody Lives, Everything is happy, M/M, Post BoFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:52:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Srtawalker/pseuds/Srtawalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a song that Mahal taught Durin. A song that is venerated by dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kumathel-azl (The song of memory)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Kumathel-azl (La canción de la memoria)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110925) by [Srtawalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Srtawalker/pseuds/Srtawalker). 



> I heard the song Once Upon a December from the movie Anastasia (I recommend that you listen before reading this fic to keep in mind that the tone and melody of which I speak, not the lyrics. Http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpEoMe4a0IE&noredirect=1) and I could not stop thinking about Thorin singing it in Erebor. So here it is.
> 
> I have invented everything related to the song, I still hope that discerning readers of Tolkien are not too angry. I think this could happen. Do not forget that there is some mysterious magic concerning the dwarves so that they are able to create their magic doors ... And what magic is more powerful than love? (For Aule, I have never been so cheesy)

Kili would not stop crying. Fili didn’t know what to do in order to calm down his little brother. His mother had told him that it was normal for a baby to cry without reason, that sometimes babies cry wantonly, but Fili was still worried. Something must his brother want to cry like this. In his four years of life never Kili has cried without a reason and that is why Fili was totally lost and didn’t know what to do. Their mother had tried to clam her child, rocking him in her arms, but without success, so she decided to leave him in the floor, where the cushions were, near Fili. She had a lot to do because since the death of her husband the food wasn’t as plenty in her table as once were when she was a princess of Erebor.

When Fili didn’t know what to do to calm his brother, his uncle came throught the door. The little dwarf didn’t need much time to notice that his uncle was very tired. Amad always said that his uncle worked too much, that he didn’t had any free time, but that was not true, because uncle Thorin always found time to play with him and his little brother.

‘What’s the matter?’ Asked Thorin dropping the bag near the door and taking off the hood full of water.

‘I don’t know. Kili has been crying for a while. I don’t know what to do.’ Was the replay of his sister while she moved the box of his little shop to the backyard.

Thorin scowled and walked to meet his sister-sons.

‘Has something happened? He asked Fili.

‘No, uncle. I don’t know why he started crying. I left him alone one minute ago and when I came back he was crying. I don’t know what to do.’

Thorin stroked the little blond head and took Kili in his arms as sat in the armchair by the fire.  Fili went with him and sat between his legs on the floor, waiting to see what his uncle was going to do to reassure his brother. Thorin placed Kili in his legs and began to sing a slow melody. It was a song that Fili recognized, as he had heard his uncle sung it to him when he didn’t wanted to go to sleep. It was a slow and melodious song, soulful and full of feelings that moved the little dwarf to a distant and beautiful land.

As soon as Thorin started singing Kili stopped crying and looked at his uncle, unable to look away. The voice of the exiled prince was deep and melodious; it was one of those voices you wanted to hear every day of your life. His voice had a certain nostalgia that made the song had a beautiful tragic twist. Both little dwarves were silent, hearing the voice of his uncle merge with the sound of burning wood without any of them being aware of the sad smile of the dwarf lady listening in the room next door.

 

 

 *** 

‘What are go going to, exactly?’ Kili asked Balin while they walked down the long corridors of Erebor.

‘It's called _Kumathel-azl_. It is a ritual where the King of the Line of Durin makes use of the gift Mahal gave him to remember his people where they come from. You will understand when you see it.’ Said the dwarf with the long white beard. Fili and Kili looked to each other not quite understanding what Balin was talking about. Their uncle had thought them most of the traditions of their people, but they had never heard of something like that.

‘No wonder you don’t know about it.' Balin continued looking at the princes of Erebor. 'It is a very old ritual that few dwarves outside of Erebor known. The last time it was carried out was when your grandfather reigned, at that time I would not reach the hundred and Thorin was a young prince too small to wield a hammer.’

‘Why he stopped doing it?’ Asked Fili.

Balin looked away, remembering a bygone era. 'Other things occupied the mind of the King. Years passed and it was forgotten.’

‘Until now.’ Said Kili.

Balin looked back at him, coming back to the present. ‘Until now.’ He said with a smile. And that being said, he turned around and continue heading towards the room of the Silver Fountains.

 

 

 ***  

Thorin was sitting on the steps of the great silver fountain. The Hall of Silver Fountains was one of the last that had been rebuilt in Erebor, having almost remained intact. It was not very big compared to the other of the major rooms of the mountain, but it was still very important. It was situated in the lower part of the mountain and it was where the dwarves used to go to pray or meditate. At the back of the room was the big silver fountain from which water, born deep into the mountain, flowed running down to Lake City. The supply current fell by the beautiful fountain and overlooked several channels around the room making the water pass by small silver platters to disappear for two holes in the ground. It was decorated with white marble where the silver glitter on the torches lit the room giving the hall a mystical and meditational air.

The King under the Mountain was sitting on a cushion on the marble steps, chanting his harp. He did not hear the hobbit enter nor he noticed him until he touched his shoulder.

‘Are you okay?’ Bilbo asked looking at the King. This was dressed in a simple blue tunic with a waistcoat with silver belt. His hair was decorated with a few silver beads and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing his powerful arms and a silver bracelet decorated his left wrist. He was dressed very simple being a Dwarf King, but in Bilbo’s eyes he has never looked more handsome.

‘Yes. I was lost in my thoughts.’ Said the King looking at the halfling.  

Bilbo didn’t know what to say. More often than not Thorin would stare at nothing, seeing things that were only in his memory and then always had that sad smile when Bilbo asked about his memories. The hobbit did not like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

‘Do you need anything?’ Bilbo asked, wanting to feel useful and help the king.

‘No.’ Thorin looked at Bilbo with that intense look that he used to when there were matters he didn’t know how to solve but he knew he had to. ‘Have someone explained to you what will happen?’

‘Balin told me a little. He mentioned something about a song and ritual. Actually I did not understand much of it, but what I understand is that it is sacred and important to your people. And that is something only for your people.’ That last sentence was said looking away. Balin had not forbidden him to attend, but had made it clear that this ritual, like some others, like almost all to be exact, were only for Dwarves, no other race was allowed to attend them.

‘It is true. The _Kumathel-azl_ is sacred to us, Dwarves. It all goes back to when Mahal made the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves. Durin the Deathless was the first of its creation and, unlike the rest, he mad him alone, without a partner to sleep during the long years that followed after the creation. Therefore, Mahal gave him a gift, the gift of using music to teach him what love is for it was not in his nature what that feeling was. It was not until he reached _Khazam-dûm_ where the gift that the Maker had given him was visible. It was there that he saw who would be his wife and in the depth of the mountain he sang the song that Mahal had taught him. It was a song where Mahal had locked his love of Yavanna so that his son understood the sentiment of love. Since then the song can only be sung by the King, the heir of Durin, in the day that bears his name, so that the Kumathel-azl can come true and the gift of Mahal can once again live among his creation.’

Bilbo had sat next to Thorin to hear the story. He loved stories and he was passionate to know more of the dwarves, a race who tended to reveal their secrets to no one. And all this was made more special if it was the King, in his deep, beautiful voice, who told the story.

‘That's the song you are going to sing. In front of all your people. Recalling that day.’ Thorin nodded at the words of Bilbo. ‘Now I understand why I cannot be present.’ He said with a sad voice, because he wanted with all his heart to hear the song that the Valar had taught Durin and had passed from generation to generation until the dwarf in front of him.

‘It is true that any non-dwarf can be present, it is something sacred for us. However you will be.’

Bilbo looked a Thorin not believe what he had just said.

‘But Thorin, I ... I appreciate it, but I prefer not to bother. Someone may see it as an offense, I do not want ...’

Thorin stopped the hobbit seizing his hands. ‘You do not understand. It is true that my people will be present, but mostly no one should forget the origin of the song. Durin sang to who would be his companion, as did his descendants after him. Now is my turn to sing it to who will be mine. '

 

Bilbo didn’t know what to say. He doubted that his little hobbit heart were able to contain so many emotions at the same time, so he just smiled with a shy smile hoping that in it, and in his eyes, Thorin would read how much he loved him. 

*** 

The room was full of dwarves who had gathered around the large fountain, leaving ample space between the King and his people. The dwarves were sitting around the room, and between the columns, and at higher levels where there were walkways, some of them stand to look at his king. Bilbo was near Dís and the two princes, sitting in the front row on some comfortable cushions. The company was around him, all looking expectantly at his king, because very few of those present in the room knew for sure what was going to happen next.

The only sound that could be heard was the water running through the channels and just as the sun of Durin’s day appeared in the sky, outside the Mountain, the King beneath her began to sing a song while playing the harp so soft and tender that the sound could be taken as little water drops falling after a spring rain.

Fili and Kili looked at each other, for they knew the song that his uncle was singing. It was a song he had sung to them many times before, if they had not been able to sleep or they were ill or sad. They knew every note, every word; yet they had never heard it like now.

After a few seconds Thorin started singing a soft, melancholy melody. Bilbo did not understand the lyrics, because it was in _Khuzdûl_ , but he could imagine its content, yet he soon realized he didn’t need to understand the language of the Dwarves to understand the meaning of the song. He also understood why the dwarves considered sacred.

Thorin sang the first verse of the song with his eyes closed. He was carried away by the lyrics and the moment and he felt like his mind was away from his body as he continued singing the song that his grandfather taught him.

Fili and Kili were looking at his uncle while he was singing the beginning of the song, but nothing could have prepared them for what happened next. When Thorin was finishing the first stanza some voices started singing at the sound of the music of his uncle harp. They voices were not coming from any dwarf, they were voices coming from another era, another time; and in the eyes of all tiny water drops rose from the silver platters to form two forms in the middle of the room, suspended in the air.

Thorin sang and played the harp, while the forms of Mahal and Yavanna appeared in the eyes of his people, in the way the creator decided to show himself to his children the first time. Both figures danced changing shape and playing with each other until they met and become one. Sometimes Mahal took the form of a mountain, sometimes Yavanna was transformed into a tree. Both figures were pursued and complemented to end up in each other's arms.

When they become one the song ended, the voices faded and only the voice of the King, finishing the song with fine silver harp, was heard while the water that had formed the figures returned to its channel sources converted in droplets.

Thorin opened his eyes and looked at Bilbo. He would never know what he had seen, for the King never saw the images that took shape thanks to his voice, but he knew that whatever it was, nothing was more beautiful than the hobbit's eyes staring at him in that moment, full of love.

 

 

Mahal from its rooms in Valinor smiled. He had taught their children well. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A TRASLATION ( A VERY POOR ONE) OF MY SPANISH FIC. IF YOU SEE SOME ERRORS (THERE ARE PLENTY) PLEASE TELL ME!


End file.
